C4

"You sleep here," Christopher says flatly, throwing the door to the master bedroom open.

I stand on the threshold, shivering in my damp, ruined clothes.

"The staff talk," he adds, his voice cold and clipped as he steps past me into the dark room. "I won't have rumors spreading across the city that my new wife is kept in the servants' wing."

My hands curl into tight fists at my sides. "I don't care about your staff, Christopher."

"I care about my image," he replies instantly, turning to glare down at me with hard eyes. "You live under my name now. That means you follow my rules."

"Your rules are a prison," I say, my throat burning with unshed tears.

"Then consider yourself locked in," he says, stepping closer until his broad frame blocks out the dim hallway light. "Go wash off that dirt."

I drag my feet into the massive, freezing room, my heart pounding wildly against my ribs.

He turns on his heel and disappears into the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door behind him without another word. The sound of running water fills the silence, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the dark room.

My knees give out slightly, but I force myself to stay upright. I strip off my ruined, rain-soaked dress and pull on a plain silk robe resting near the closet. The fabric feels soft, but it does nothing to warm the ice flowing through my veins.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opens.

Christopher steps out wearing only a pair of black sleep pants. His broad chest is bare, displaying lean, powerful muscle and a jagged pale scar running across his ribcage. My eyes lock onto the mark before I quickly turn my gaze toward the floor, my cheeks flushing with unwanted heat.

He doesn't look at me. He doesn't say a word. He walks straight to the far side of the massive king-sized bed and pulls back the heavy sheets.

He lies down on the absolute edge, turning his back completely toward me. The distance between us on the enormous mattress feels like a mile-wide chasm.

I hesitate at the foot of the bed, my heart thrashing against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Get in," Christopher growls into the darkness, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not going to argue with you at two in the morning."

I crawl onto the opposite side of the bed, curling my cold body into a tight ball as far away from him as possible. I stare fixedly at the ceiling, every single nerve in my body screamingly aware of his massive presence beside me. His warmth radiates across the mattress, conflicting wildly with the cold air filling the room.

My breath stays shallow. I lie completely rigid, holding my breath every time he shifts.

An hour passes in agonizing silence. I stare into the dark, watching the shadows stretch across the wall, my mind racing with thoughts of my mother's stolen legacy and the threat hanging over my head.

Suddenly, a sharp, loud ringing cuts through the silence.

Christopher's phone lights up on the nightstand beside him. He reaches out with a slow, deliberate movement and answers it without leaving the bed. He doesn't even move to sit up.

"Speak," Christopher says into the receiver, his voice raspy from sleep.

The room is so quiet that I can hear the high-pitched, smooth voice leaking through the speaker. It's Elizabeth.

"Christopher," Elizabeth purrs softly over the line, her voice dripping with artificial warmth. "Did you handle everything at the registry?"

"It's done," Christopher answers. His tone shifts completely—losing its sharp, cutting edge, dropping into something soft, almost tender. "She signed."

I freeze beneath the covers, my chest tightening so hard I can barely draw air into my lungs.

"Good," Elizabeth says, her faint laugh echoing clearly in the quiet room. "I was worried she would cause a scene in front of the press. We still have the future to plan, darling. I can't wait for this year to finally end."

"It will go by quickly," Christopher whispers softly into the phone, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above us. "Just focus on the company restructuring. The stripper problem will be cleaned up soon enough."

"I know you'll take care of it," Elizabeth says sweetly. "Come see me tomorrow afternoon. I miss you."

"I'll be there," Christopher replies quietly. "Go to sleep, Elizabeth."

He ends the call and drops his hand back onto the mattress.

Every single word she said feels like a fresh blade twisting deep inside my gut. I lie rigid beside him, my face burning with deep, suffocating humiliation as I stare at the dark wall. He didn't even bother to leave the room. He let me hear every single word of his plans with the woman who helped steal my mother's life.

Christopher lies completely still in the dark for a long, agonizing minute.

He doesn't move. He doesn't breathe. The air in the bedroom grows thick, heavy, and suffocatingly tense.

Suddenly, Christopher sits straight up in bed.

He grabs the smartphone off the nightstand, his knuckles turning stark white as his grip tightens around the glass casing. With a violent, explosive motion, he hurls the phone across the room.

CRASH!

The phone slams hard into the far plaster wall, shattering into a dozen black plastic and glass fragments that scatter across the dark floorboards.

The violent noise echoes sharply through the silent room, making my heart jump straight into my throat. I gasp, pulling the sheets up to my chin as I stare at his wide, rigid back in terror.

Christopher swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up.

He walks slowly across the dark room toward the hallway door. He grabs the brass doorknob, turning it halfway, but he doesn't open it. He stops completely, standing frozen in the doorway with his back turned toward me.

For three agonizing, unbroken seconds, his chest heaves with deep, ragged breaths.

His broad shoulders rise and fall heavily in the dark, a tiny, raw crack appearing in his impenetrable wall of ice before he snaps his jaw shut, hardening his posture back into pure stone.

He yanks the door open, steps out into the dark hallway, and slams the heavy oak door shut behind him.

The loud click of the lock echoes through the silent bedroom.

I am left completely alone in the dark, surrounded by the heavy, suffocating scent of his skin lingering on the sheets beside me. The sharp smell of cedarwood mixes with the bitter taste of my own tears. The silent room still rings with the sound of his shattered phone resting in pieces against the wall.

I don't cry. I squeeze my eyes shut, my short nails digging into my bare palms until the pain grounds me.

"I will make you regret this," I whisper into the empty darkness, my voice cold, steady, and filled with a dangerous new resolve.

Christopher

I stand in the pitch-black hallway outside the master bedroom door at three in the morning.

The air in the grand estate is freezing, but my skin burns with a dark, suffocating heat. My eyes are closed tight, my jaw clenched so hard the muscles in my face ache with raw tension.

I press my back against the heavy wooden door frame, listening intently to the total silence coming from the room behind me.

I can't hear her breathing. I can't hear her crying.

There is only an empty, terrifying silence left behind the closed door—a silence that twists like a rusted hook deep inside my chest.